More Than Equals
by Golden Boots
Summary: Carrie's never been one for sharing. The recoil of female friends is deterrent enough. She suspects she's an oddity, that only men will ever understand her. Then she meets CIA Case Officer, Allison Carr – a woman after her own dark and dirty heart… USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY ADDITIONAL TAG: Allison Carr


**May 2006**

The sun felt different. Ridiculous assertion but it did. It was as hot here as it had been in Baghdad but the sun touched her differently – caressed her rather than mauled her. It was only once she glanced downwards that she figured out why - she was on vacation and she was wearing hardly a scrap of clothing. Her feet were clad in canvas espadrilles, her legs in white shorts and her upper body in a deep blue strappy top. And that was it. The sun no longer had to fight through layers of modest clothing to reach her so it relaxed instead and kissed her – kissed her shoulders, her cheekbones, the backs of her knees. Carrie murmured something pleasant as she strolled down the pier, lifting the hair from the back of her neck so the sun could kiss her there, too. She closed her eyes. Her footing faltered. Cocktails in a row had taken their toll.

A warm little arm slipped through hers. Carrie turned to find herself peering under the huge brim of a floppy white hat into the sweet face of her friend. "So what do you think of 'Banana Joe's'?" asked Allison.

Carrie grinned and put back her head. "I love it! I can't thank you enough for suggesting I join you in St Lucia for my break." She adopted a hammy actor's voice as she clutched with both hands at Allison's arm. "How can I ever repay you?"

The strawberry blond raised the eyebrows on her porcelain face. "It ain't over 'til it's over," she purred. Then the two friends giggled together and headed towards their hotel, Carrie providing the support for her even more tipsy superior because no matter how chilled she was, no matter how drunk she was, Allison's power heels stayed on.

* * *

She was trying on dresses in the mirror. God, when was the last time she did that? When was the last time she wore something that wasn't navy blue or grey? Or a pantsuit? Carrie had precisely two dresses. She quickly rejected the black one – the cut was too severe and the material too heavy for a Caribbean evening. She held the second against herself and stroked the contours of her body over it, turning left, turning right. It was a deep wine red halter neck with a pleated A-line skirt that finished at her knees. The halter sparkled with diamanté. Carrie paused, observing with a detached eye – a lover's eye – the way the moonlight drew silver lines along the edges of her face and frame. She stripped off her beachwear and held the dress against her naked skin. Chiffon. It glided over her thighs but caught on her nipples, teasing them into stiffness. Carrie's lips became a hard, smiling line. Fuck it – she'd go braless tonight.

Allison was a great bad influence. Carrie had spent only two days in her company but was already loosened up to a degree she hadn't felt since her teens. She got the feeling she could tell this woman anything. And she wouldn't have to prettify it or couch it in terms of relationships to make it palatable, as she usually had to when talking to other women about sex. Allison, she suspected, was someone who took her pleasure where she found it and saw no reason not to be frank, so long as it didn't compromise her work. Until this moment, Carrie had not realised she needed to share these things with another woman but, oh, did she now! It was a craving. She needed to tell another about her experiences – and her fantasies. On went the red dress and a smear of red lipstick, too. Maybe the conversation would begin tonight.

* * *

At 7.30pm, the hotel bar was not too full. The wall of French doors had been opened and the fresh sea air did the work of air conditioning. Only two people were dancing – an older black couple, elegant and debonair. They gazed into each other's eyes like newlyweds. Charmed, Carrie turned to find Allison already _in situe_ , leaning back on the bar with her elbows resting on it, lower body thrust forward in a bold, masculine fashion. Her posture contrasted dramatically with her appearance, which was exquisitely feminine, as usual. Eventually, the cool stare of the CIA case officer fell upon her new friend. "Carrie," she teased. "I never knew you had it in you. Sooo glamorous tonight."

She grinned shyly and they kissed on either cheek. They were wearing almost exactly the same shade of lipstick. "Look who's talking."

Allison stood erect for her appraisal and twirled. Her figure was clothed in what looked like a dancer's dress, designed to move flexibly. It was made of a diaphanous grey material and shot through with silver thread in diagonal lines. There was a single shoulder strap, a band to emphasize the dip of her waist and the skirt that seemed all of one piece revealed itself as two when Allison pushed one perfect leg forward and a split appeared, material swooning away on either side.

Carrie had to admit it. "You look stunning," she said.

Allison took the compliment in her stride. "So what do you think of St Lucian nightlife?" she asked.

She nodded. "I like it. At times, it's a little, 'How Stella Got Her Groove Back' but by and large, yeah, it's good."

Allison laughed. Then she pierced her colleague with a flash from sooty-lashed eyes. "And what about you, Carrie? Have you got your groove on?"

"In what way?"

"Tell me what you do to relax. A woman like you in a high-powered, high risk job. What is it – drugs, hunting, men? Don't try to tell me it's needlepoint because I won't believe you."

Carrie licked her lips. A part of her was bridling at the way this woman she hardly knew could pinpoint her weaknesses while another was yearning for that girlie, giggly night of oversharing. The more positive of the two won. "Men," she confessed. "What about you?"

"Men." She lifted her drink to her lips and just before she took a sip, said, "And sometimes women."

"Oh. Really?" She didn't know where to look. She went to stick her hands in the back pockets of her pants and was perturbed to find chiffon where there should be wool.

"You?"

"Ah – no. I'm heterosexual." She settled for a rueful shrug.

After a pause, Allison said, "You know what the difference is between a heterosexual and a homosexual?" She pointed at a cocktail standing on the bar. "About five of those." While Carrie sniggered, she turned to the bartender and snapped her fingers. He hastened to serve her. "A marguerita for me and for my friend with the lovely shoulders…?" She ran the backs of her fingers down Carrie's bare arm as she spoke, then flashed a look at the bartender that asked a very different set of questions: _Did you see that? Did you like what you saw?_

"Oh," said Carrie by way of explanation of her lovely shoulders. "I work out." At the sight of the young man and Allison sharing a smile, she blushed as red as her dress. Her voice was small as she added, "Could I have a mojito, please?"

As the bartender moved away, Allison turned to her and mouthed, "Green eyes!" and they both watched him.

He was very young, around nineteen or twenty, with a cheeky smile and a beauty that spoke of mixed African-European heritage. "Voilà!" he said as he presented them with their cocktails, immediately sweeping a wet cloth over the black glass of the bar.

"Bottoms up!" said Allison.

"Here's mint in your eye," said Carrie, nosing her herbs out of the way before taking a long sip. "Mmm."

"Wow," said Allison to the bartender, playing with her slice of lime. "You're very talented. Are you one of Gabriel's boys?"

He paused mid-wipe. "Gabriel Roth? Is he a friend of yours?" Those green eyes projected a touch of caution now.

"Yes. A very old friend from my 'rose window' days."

"Then you are a friend of mine." He passed his fingers over hers before heading back to the kitchen, glancing back at them over his shoulder as he did so.

Carrie's eyes were wide. "What the hell was that all about? 'Rose window'?" The CIA agent knew a code word when she heard one.

"Not what you think. It's about a man. A man who really understands me." Allison lifted her pretty cleft chin. "You ever had one of them, a man who really understands you?"

Carrie drew herself up. "Of course," she said. "Sometimes, I think Saul knows me too well."

"Saul Berenson?" Allison flicked an eyebrow. "He knows everything about you, does he? The secrets of your very heart?"

She looked away.

"You'll like Gabriel. And I know he'll like you. He looks a lot like a young Saul Berenson, if you can imagine that."

"Not really."

"Oh, I can." And when the next sip of marguerita touched her lips, her tongue came out to meet it.

The room began to fill and as its energy rose so the music changed tempo to meet it, eventually settling into a lively mix of reggae, Brazilian samba and indie. Carrie and Allison updated their drinks before the crush at the bar could claim them but just as Carrie went to sip her banana daiquiri, 'Hey Ya!' began to play and her friend seized her wrist. "Let's dance," she ordered.

"We don't have partners. I think we need to wait to be asked."

"The hell we do. Dance with me." She didn't wait for her compliance but pulled her to her feet and whirled her onto the dance floor.

It came as a surprise to many that wild Carrie, out of control Carrie, could be a touch inhibited on the dancefloor. Allison had little time for that. When she saw the pretty blond swinging from the shoulders and glancing around nervously, she took the initiative. She drew the focus onto herself, disarming her with a series of cheesy dance moves and daring sinuousness. Carrie laughed and tried to copy her. The shimmy needed more work but her body roll wasn't half bad and she had quite the build for it – slender, cat-like. Allison folded her arms and nodded her approval, gangsta-style.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came a voice over the sound system, his Caribbean accent strong and seductive, "it's time to get to know your partner better as we strike up a romantic, risqué, red-blooded rhumba!"

Every couple moved a step closer and Allison wasn't going to let theirs be the exception. With a one-sided smile, she hooked an arm around Carrie's waist and pressed her close. Her body writhed against the young CIA agent's, guiding her into similar movements with gentle pressure from her wrists and hips.

Carrie was two-fold shy – too shy to look Allison in the eye and too shy to rebel against her direction. She looked down but that did nothing to temper the mood. The two of them were exactly the same height, which meant their breasts were mashed together. It was strange. Throughout Carrie's life, comparing her own breasts to other women's had left her with feelings of inadequacy, lack of femininity. Not so now. All competitiveness vanished, she saw nothing but the delightful contrast of Allison's round, pliant breasts against the pertness of her own. She had never felt more feminine.

The rhythm was hypnotic and the alcohol she'd consumed washed through her veins, simultaneously stimulating and relaxing her. She forgot to think about where to put her feet. As they danced, Carrie realised her nipples were hardening again and she coloured at the thought that Allison might be able to sense them. They were not the discreet type. They stood out like the ends of little fingers when erect, men could wrap their lips around them and suckle them deep into their mouths. And they were very sensitive. She closed her eyes for a moment; tried to feel if Allison's were stiff, too. She became aware that she could _smell_ her. A sea salt and suncream smell, a coconut shampoo smell and beneath it all, the faintest hint of soft musk. What was this beautiful older woman trying to do to her? She raised her eyes, then, and gave her superior a bold look.

But Allison was looking past her now, laser eyes fixed on a new target. She pulled at Carrie's hip, moving her round so she could see what she was seeing.

A tall man was standing in the golden-white light beside the bar, watching the dancing women. He had a long face topped with shaggy black curls, and his eyes were dark and twinkling.

"Gabriel Roth," said Allison.

Carrie nodded. "I see what you mean about the resemblance to Saul."

"Wait here," she said, breaking their embrace. "Don't lose the rhythm." She gave her behind a little wiggle for Carrie's amusement as she left her for the bar.

The natural spy in the young agent took over. She stood like a column in a sunken city, absolutely still amidst a seabed of waving arms. She watched Allison place her hands on Gabriel's shoulders and stand on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. They seemed to talk earnestly for a while, then he called over the bartender who had served them earlier and they both engaged in conversation with him. Finally, all three turned and looked pointedly in Carrie's direction.

'One of Gabriel's boys'. She got it now. Carrie headed back to their table to finish off her daiquiri and think but before the cocktail could touch her lips, Allison danced into view, laughing.

"Come on, let's go freshen up," she said.

"Why didn't you tell me?" snapped Carrie, an anxious brow pulling up her wide eyes, turning them into triangles. "This was meant to be a break for me – why didn't you tell me you had assets here?"

Allison blinked. "Assets? Well, I suppose you could call Gabriel and Dominic 'assets' but I think you've gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick."

"So – what? Now you're telling me they're _not_ working for the CIA?"

"Carrie, I can assure you my being here in St Lucia has nothing to do with work and everything to do with pleasure." Her soft smile was reassuring. And just a little disconcerting. She rapped on the table. "Come on. If we want to last the evening, we'd better prepare ourselves. Drink some water, primp our hair, throw some talc in our armpits!"

Confused, Carrie followed her to the elevator.

* * *

"ʻSamsara' by Guerlain." Carrie lifted the little red bottle of scent to her neck and was just about to spray when a hand stopped her.

"No. Not there. Put it on your hair." Allison took the bottle from her, stepped back and directed a light spray into the air so it fell upon Carrie's head: a coronation of womanliness.

"But why not put it on my neck, too?"

Her superior moved behind her and lifted her hair away from her neck. "What if someone wants to kiss you there?"

A breeze blew in from the open windows on Allison's balcony and raised the younger woman's skin in gooseflesh. _My God, she's gonna kiss me!_ thought Carrie and, for a moment, panic seized her. She didn't consider herself bisexual. Of course, she wasn't disgusted by the thought of sex with women and she'd had lesbian friends but it just wasn't her thing.

She caught sight of their reflection. Two exquisitely beautiful women so similar in looks they could almost be related. And she thought to herself, _If there's a person alive who doesn't find this hot, they need their head examining._ Allison's full lips closed on the spot where her shoulder met her neck and she gave Carrie a lingering kiss. Silver threads vibrated throughout her body. All doubt disappeared. The knot of apprehension in her stomach flipped over and transmuted into excitement. This was sex, simply sex. She knew about sex. She liked sex. When she heard the knock at the door, she knew exactly who it would be. "Gabriel."

"And Dominic. Dominic Booth. He prefers to be called Boothie." Her hand took hold of Carrie's, their fingers lacing. She gave it a little squeeze. "We'll be the ones in control."

"Okay."

She cocked her head and there was a corner smile on her lips. "Do you think they'll get into each other?"

Carrie shook her head in wonderment. "Woman – are you singing my tune or what?"

They went to answer the door together.

"Hi!" Boothie immediately thrust alcohol at them. Gabriel stood a step or two behind him, rolling a couple of limes around in one large hand.

"Come on in," said Allison. "Carrie – would you take the bottles?"

Glad for something to do, she hugged them to her. As she went to take the fruit from Gabriel, he stroked her fingers, eyes flicking down from his lofty height and boring into her. The silver tingles spread to her loins. He brushed past her and went to Allison's side, offering her a brief brush of the lips across her cheek.

"What would you like to drink?" said Allison. "Boothie – I'm presuming you're 'off-duty' now. Would you like something to drink?"

Carrie tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'm just gonna pop to the bathroom," she said nervously and noticed that Boothie sent a longing look in her direction as she disappeared.

"Whoa. Am I really gonna do this?" And yet the whole time she was spoke to herself in the bathroom mirror, she was simultaneously adjusting the position of her breasts in her dress, disposing of her panty-liner and swapping her smudgy red lipstick for a smear of cherry lipbalm. "You know," she jabbered as she stepped back into the bedroom, "I often think that –"

They stood beside the window with their hands and their mouths and their skin. It had already begun. The lights had been dimmed – the scene set. Allison stood as if in rapture with the men on either side of her. Boothie had an arm about her waist while one long-fingered hand rubbed across her breasts, enjoying the way they bulged against his palm. He was crooning to himself as he did so.

Gabriel stood a little further behind her and he was feasting on the flesh of her neck while his hand circled the gentle curve of her belly. As Carrie watched, he grabbed a fistful of Allison's blond hair and slowly pulled her head back until her moaning mouth was subject to his kiss. At the same time, the hand on her stomach reached down, parted the split in her dress and clasped her over her sheer panties. It slid back and forth, the middle finger pressing in deeper than the rest.

Carrie knew what that felt like and the echo in her body made her want to put her hand between her own legs and squeeze her thighs on it. But she wasn't ready for that yet. It was logical, yes, it was the thing to do – but she just wasn't ready. Not yet. The men – someone – needed to touch her first. She couldn't be the one to touch first. She had to be invited. But did they even need her right now? Boothie was in love with Allison's breasts, Gabriel had homed in on her pussy and Allison herself… She was in thrall, body swaying like a flame between the various attentions of clever hands.

Boothie turned and looked at Carrie, a smile curving on his lips. He held out an arm. "Don't be no wallflower, _cherie_. Come, come."

She took a tentative step forward and suddenly she was surrounded by their arms. She could feel the heat from three different mouths on her cheeks.

Gabriel let go of Allison's hair. She bit her lip as she turned to her beautiful colleague and mouthed, "Yeeeees!"

Boothie's hand was on Carrie's back, rubbing encouragingly, then it was running up to the back of her head, entangling itself in her hair and pressing. He was pushing her towards Allison. She heard Gabriel chuckle deep in his chest and before she had time to register she was about to kiss a woman for the first time, she was doing it.

The woman's mouth was so small, so soft. She was a soft kisser, too – softer than Carrie, who had a tendency to devour her lovers, teeth behind the lips making the kiss strong. Allison was all lips and tongue, and very wet. Their lips just touched, tongues meeting half way and dabbing at each other, then the pressure from Boothie's hand increased and Carrie found herself pushing her tongue into Allison's mouth. It opened wide to accommodate her and the next thing she knew, she was tongue-fucking her, bolder than she'd ever been with a man.

Boothie was whispering in Allison's ear. "Do you like that, havin' a woman lickin' your mouth like it was a little cunt? Do you like gettin' your little cunt licked, too? Do you want me to fuck you, girl?"

Carrie broke the kiss and watched Allison's mouth gasp, "I want you to fuck me. I want all of you to fuck me. I want to be fucked senseless." She decided nothing could give her more pleasure right now than watching Allison getting fucked senseless. Gabriel's hand came up from the place where it had played and cupped Carrie's chin, his thumb running into the corner of her mouth. She smelled musk; tasted sweetness. The eyes that had twinkled when first she saw them were now hooded as he gauged her reaction, gauged how far he could go. He slipped his thumb deeper in. Meanwhile, Boothie had moved his hand round to her behind, lifting her dress and pressing fingers in between her cheeks…

She took a step back. It was all going too fast. "I want to watch. For now," she said and it was true. She might not be ready for a full-scale foursome but she had no intention of leaving.

"Aw, no, baby. Come and join the fun!" Boothie put an arm around her waist and began to drag her back into the fold.

A hand appeared on his shoulder and a voice like steel said, "Whatever the lady wants, she gets." Allison was not to be messed with – in this sense at least. The young bartender stuck out his bottom lip then rejoined, "Okay, okay. There's a front row seat waiting for her right there." He led Carrie over to a rather ornate chair with a padded seat and round backrest positioned near the bed. "Just promise me one thing."

As Carrie nestled in and looked up into those green eyes so full of fun, she replied, "What?"

He took her right hand in both of his. "Don't let yourself go off the boil. Touch yourself." He placed her hand between her legs. "'Cause I'll be watchin' you."

All hands were once more on Allison, dark hands contrasting with the milk of her skin. They ran up and down her, awakening every inch of her but the places they lingered belied their owners' preferences. Boothie's hands returned perpetually to Allison's breasts, clutching them both at the same time, rolling them or sometimes flicking over a nipple with the tips of his fingers. It wasn't long before he'd inched down the neck of her dress so one nipple just peeked over. Gabriel stooped to flicker his tongue across it, turning its shrimp pink colour dark rose, then he took Boothie's fingers and placed them around the erect teat. On the other, covered breast, he demonstrated the hard pinch it seemed she liked best.

Allison's head lolled on Boothie's shoulder.

The watcher hoped they would linger over this act. There was something so cruel, so animal about the rough treatment of breasts that it acted as a game-changer for Carrie, transforming a love-making session from something sensuous into something dangerous. She knew how it felt, that sensation that was making Allison go weak but at the same time thrust her chest forward and pump her hips. Carrie lifted her arms into a 'cross my heart' position, found her nipples through the wine-coloured chiffon and began to roll them.

Gabriel didn't seem to be a breast man, or a butt or leg man. Or at least, he was happy with a little of all three but above all, it seemed he was an orifice man. His fingers danced between Allison's pussy and mouth. He lifted one of her legs and placed her foot on the edge of the bed so her thighs were spread wide for everyone to see. Her panties were see-thru' and made of a similar silver-grey material as her dress. There was a dark patch where Gabriel had rubbed her. He put his hand there again – his huge, warming hand – then nudged aside the panties' frilled edge, slipping his fingers inside. Carrie was fascinated by his movements. She tried to discern exactly what he was doing. There was a general rubbing at first then his hand moved higher, the movements becoming more precise. She didn't need to hear Allison's high-pitched whimpers to know he was circling her clit with the tip of one finger. It was a move she knew well and she ground her hips against her seat, a small moan of her own escaping her.

She was heard. Gabriel's head jerked round to look at her, heavy brows giving him a glowering expression and as she met his look with a frank one of her own, she simultaneously pulled her skirt up to her waist and spread her legs, hanging one over each arm of the chair. The material of her panties was not sheer or light so he could not see the moisture that was soaking them now but they were stretched deliciously tight. Holding her gaze, his hand moved again and there was no doubt he was now plunging his first two fingers in and out of Allison. His lips were firm, he narrowed his eyes and his stare ran from Carrie's eyes to her cunt and back again as he finger-fucked her friend. He seemed to be saying, _This is what will happen to your sweet cunt once I get my hands on it._ Then he pulled out his hand, brought it up to Allison's face and she was ready for him, mouth open, tongue flat, as he pushed glistening fingers into his second favourite orifice. He made sure the juice was taken right to the back of her throat and when his fingers withdrew, he smeared whatever remained across her lips. Allison closed her mouth and swallowed.

"That's some pussy sweat right there!" said Boothie. He was wearing drawstring cargo pants, and it was so easy for him to pull them down at the front and take out his prick. It was long and the head was pink. He immediately began to jack himself with a practiced hand. "That's pussy juice on your lips, girl. Do you like the taste of your own pussy?"

Gabriel's mouth came down, and he and Allison kissed, savouring the slickness of juice between them but unbeknownst to her, he was gesturing behind her back, hand signals expressing in no uncertain terms that Boothie must cease and regain control of his passions.

Looking a little sheepish, the young bartender placed his straining prick back inside his pants, where it tented the material. He returned to fondling Allison.

 _We_ are _in control,_ thought Carrie with elation. _This is_ our _fantasy!_ She began running her hands over her lower half, stroking her palms along her thighs, making passes over what lay between.

With a sound like she was sucking on the flesh of some juicy fruit, Allison broke the kiss with Gabriel and turned her head to find the waiting lips of Boothie.

Smiling, making a rumble of pleasure deep in his throat, he latched onto her lips, sucking upper and lower one after the other, tongue lapping in between. In the meantime, Gabriel went to work on her dress, pulling it down to her waist and unhooking her bra. His hands moved in from the sides, lifting her breasts and pushing them together. With the nipples side by side, he could easily run his tongue from one to the other, suckling each in turn.

Allison was so pale, it was almost scary to see male hands touch her. She was exquisitely white, blue-veined in places, and looked like she would break if a man simply spoke to her harshly. Carrie sighed at the sight of those ivory planes and curves, and felt as if only gentle hands should be permitted to touch her. Yet when Boothie's strong hand moved away from where it had gripped her hip and Carrie saw the long red prints he had left behind, she felt something throb inside her. Both her hands came into the centre now, working in earnest on her tender pussy, eyes fixed on the brutal red marks. She buffed her clit like she hated it and wondered if Allison would be criss-crossed with bruises tomorrow.

Boothie pulled his football shirt off over his head. Allison ran a hand over his smooth chest. He gleamed in the lamplight, skin looking polished. It gave her ideas. She turned to Gabriel and began to unbutton his khaki shirt. Once it was open, she did not push it off his shoulders but simply put her head back and enjoyed the sight of the flesh revealed. Then she placed both hands just below his pecs and ran them up through dark chest hair to his shoulders and back again.

Carrie craned her neck to check out the particular landscape of Gabriel's body hair. It fanned out from his centre line to swirl over his pectorals, was somewhat absent on his upper abdomen, then reappeared just below his navel. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and for the first time, she noticed the hair on his forearms glinting as they caught the light. A yearning to run her fingers through that coarse, ineffably masculine hair washed over her and she realised she would not be able to keep away from the group for much longer. But for now, she contented herself with Gabriel pressing his naked torso against Allison, deliberately looming over her, overwhelming her, until she whimpered in submission.

They had her sandwiched between them and she could hardly move. She didn't need to – they had her. They were all so close, it was hard to see what they were doing but it was certain they were hard at work on making Allison come. Carrie could see Gabriel's arm vibrating. Boothie's tongue was in her ear, one forearm wrapped across her chest, hand clamping a nipple between fingertips and palm. Allison's moans were continuous now and escalating in pitch. Her face was fierce, her torso bucking to a jazz rhythm as she chased her orgasm. Then, without warning, her cheeks tightened and her movements became strangely stilled. Even her breath seemed to have disappeared. All that could be heard was the encouragement from her lovers: "Come on, girl, you're nearly there." "That's it, come in my hand. I can feel you clenching on me." And then she was coming. Exuberantly. It was a privilege to watch. Her stomach muscles jerked, her thighs shook and a guttural cry accompanied each lengthy spasm.

She didn't have to think about her balance. As Allison swooned in post-orgasmic lassitude, they held her upright. It looked delightful, thought Carrie, to rest your weight against such sturdiness – against heavy, heaving, perspiring male flesh.

"Jesus – I need a glass of water." They laid her on the bed and while the bigger guy fetched her a glass from the carafe of iced water she'd so thoughtfully prepared beforehand, Boothie pulled out his prick again. When she'd finished her drink, he was ready, kneeling up on the bed behind her with his fist wrapped around the base of his hard-on. Gabriel was stripping off, too, revealing a heavy cock that stood at a ninety degree angle to his frame. As if furious with them, he grabbed the scraps of clothing that still dangled around Allison's hips and thighs, and ripped them off. Now only the power heels remained. He grabbed her hips and flipped her over, and there was the young, dark cock waiting for her. It oozed a salty tear as it stared at her.

"Suck it," Carrie found herself whispering. "Open your lips and suck that cock right down."

Gabriel paused in the act of spreading apart Allison's cheeks and thighs. He sprang from where he was kneeling on the edge of the bed and stalked over to Carrie, that aggressive-looking dick of his swinging from side to side as he did so.

Carrie couldn't help but cower, hand frozen inside her panties.

He reached down and snatched up fistfuls of her dress, yanking it up and over her head, then pulled her panties down to her ankles.

Obedient in her trance of terror, Carrie kicked her panties off then yelped as Gabriel grasped both of her ankles and forced her legs up so her heels rested on the edge of the chair. Her femaleness was utterly exposed, and it twitched and trickled under his furnace gaze.

"Show me your cunt," he ordered. "Show it to me."

 _What?_ thought Carrie. _I'm already completely naked before you._ _Completely on display._ Then she registered his meaning and reached down to pull apart with two fingers the demure outer lips, revealing the fleshy petals within. She knew her little hole must be slick with juice, her clit swollen in the presence of such a knowing man. The delicate inner lips quivered – her whole body was shaking.

A nasty grin smeared itself across Gabriel's face as, satisfied, he returned to the edge of the bed, spread Allison once again and pressed his cock into her.

She would've cried out except her lips were wrapped around Boothie. Her muffled groan vibrated him, made him moan himself.

And there it was – Allison, spit-roasted. Her long, white body had become nothing but a receptacle for hard cock. Gabriel wasn't holding back, slamming into her with a ferocity that made his balls slap against her and sweat quickly spread across his chest. He wasn't the only one thrusting. Boothie was pumping the head of his cock in and out of Allison's mouth, one hand holding her hair up in an untidy knot away from her face. Their watcher needed an unobstructed view.

The woman's technique could not be described as crisp. She relied on Boothie to wank the shaft and her mouth was slack, displaying more enthusiasm than style. Carrie caught herself in the middle of that thought – couldn't the same accusation be levelled at her? Didn't she sacrifice true eroticism for the quick fix of a hard, anonymous fuck? But one thing could be said for Allison. She had gusto. Those lovely, full breasts swung with every male thrust and the flesh of her hips rippled. This twisted act set all of the most womanly parts of her in motion. She was a woman, there was no denying it. Allison Carr was a real woman getting what all real women deserve – cock from every direction they want it.

Still, Carrie was unsure she could ever let anyone do this to her. Allison was a mess: hair a bird's nest, saliva and pre-cum hanging in strings from her chin, limbs shaking so violently it was only Gabriel's arm hooked under her belly and Boothie's hand in her hair that prevented her from collapsing. Still – it was mesmerising. Carrie felt that no matter how nasty, how extreme it got, she'd never be able to tear her eyes away. Or stop touching herself.

She was kneeling on a corner of the bed. She didn't know how she'd got there. From this angle, she had a clear view of Gabriel's meat splitting apart Allison's softness. It was hard to believe her sweet little pussy could take it but every time he withdrew, telltale evidence of the woman's excitement glistened on the shaft.

Realising she was there, Gabriel placed both hands on Allison's cheeks and pulled them apart so Carrie could see her asshole. It was small and puckered, and equally delicate as her pussy. Poor woman – she had nowhere to hide. The man fucking her spat on her behind, watched it trickle down the crack and pool in her asshole, prevented from dripping further down by the bulge of her perineum. He took a thumb and pressed it on the rosebud, circling. His other hand reached out and introduced itself between Carrie's legs, rubbing with surprisingly subtle movements considering the untempered violence of his fucking.

She put back her head, lips stretched with joy at having been found. But it wasn't enough just to observe and suffer the occasional condescension of a tickle – not any more. She worked herself round until she was behind Gabriel. Her mouth was barely level with his broad shoulders but she reached up and bit into the flesh there, feeling wild, feeling more daring than she ever had before. And to be daring with this man who scared her...! She knew bites did not have the same effect on men as they had on women. When Carrie was bitten, she felt her will disintegrate. Bitten men absorbed the pain and transmuted it into frenzy. That was exactly the effect she was looking for. She looked down at his ass, so pale with a visible tan line, and fetched him several stinging slaps as she hissed in his ear, "Fuck her, fuck that pussy hard, make her scream for your cock." When he turned to look over his shoulder at her, she lunged and kissed him with aggression, at the same time grinding her naked hips against him. She was surprised how soft his flesh felt.

He pushed his thumb deep inside Allison's rectum. She answered with a string of grunting, gobbling sounds that made her appear even more abandoned than she had before.

When Carrie broke their kiss, Gabriel's teeth were bared but rather than savage her with them, he growled between them. "Go to Allison. Take hold of her breasts. Pinch them – pinch the nipples hard. It's what she wants – what she always wants."

She needed no more instruction. She scrambled round to her.

This beautiful, sophisticated woman was no more than a fuck toy now. Every hole was filled and her passive body jack-knifed between the opposing forces of the two men. And her face! Her lids had almost closed over rolled back eyes, her cheeks were hollow as they sucked like a thing dying of thirst on the intruding cockhead, spit bubbling from the corner of her mouth. Her breasts were untouched and unloved, though the nipples stood out like fruit stalks. Carrie worked her arms underneath her and clasped both breasts, moulding them softly as she dragged her fingers down to the nipples. She took hold of them in a firm grip, pinched and pulled.

Allison squealed in the back of her throat.

She experimented, seeing how far she could go. She dug in her nails until Allison's stomach clenched with the pain; she pulled until she stretched not just the nipple but the skin of her breasts, elongating them, milking them. She shook her hands, making them quiver around the pincer hold. Though the rest of Allison's body swayed, those two points of pain remained fixed, a delicious constant in her delirious world.

Boothie groaned, his hard body pistoning, machine-like now. "Sweet cocksucker, are you ready for my cum?"

Carrie glanced up. It was the most extraordinary view. She saw the underside of Boothie's cock and his swinging balls; Allison struggling to keep the swollen cockhead in her mouth.

The beautiful boy went still and he tucked in his chin to watch as Allison's cheeks bulged with his load.

Carrie had the better position. She watched something she'd never taken the time to watch before – a visible male orgasm. Boothie's nuts tightened, all the muscles in his abdomen clenching like bellows as they forced pulse after pulse of cream up his urethra. That long ridge fluttered and the pleasure was tangible. Though Carrie's small clit may have seemed a very dissimilar structure to that long, dark rod, it throbbed in sympathy and she squeezed the walls of her pussy, wiggling her hips in frustration as she realised they were squeezing on nothing.

With a great sucking sound, Allison's lips slipped off Boothie and she toppled to her side, the still ejaculating cock above her sending its last ropes of jism across her chest.

"Yeah, oh yes!" cried Carrie, moving forward to swirl her tongue over the fading hard-on then switching her attention to Allison. After running her eyes over her spattered splendour, she placed her mouth on hers, kissing her once more.

Allison moaned, kissing back slowly. She pushed her tongue up into Carrie, transferring sticky cum to her mouth.

The decadence of the move made Carrie snicker and Allison joined in. And for a moment, there was only the two of them. Boothie, having fulfilled his purpose, had dutifully shuffled over to the other side of the king-size bed and Gabriel had lost his hold on Allison when she had fallen onto her side. All that existed was the mouths of the two girls, tongues lapping playfully at each other, sharing cum and delighting in the discovery of each other's wickedness. Carrie had thought Allison was beautiful from the day she had met her but never had she looked more alluring than she did now. She was all at once open, fevered and spent. Carrie cupped her face and ran her hand down to her chin, thumb dipping into the cleft, then down her lovely throat and across her chest, smearing cum from one breast to the other. And Allison let her.

Gabriel regrouped, laying the CIA case officer on her back, lifting her hips and penetrating her once more. Sweet Allison flopped like a doll.

Carrie became aware she was being touched. One of Gabriel's hands was on her ass, swirling from one cheek to the other. She swung her head round to face him; he pointed at Allison. "Give her something to do," he said. "Give her something she loves to do." He ran his tongue over his upper lip, leaving it glistening, beads of sweat and saliva caught in his stubble.

For a second, she paused. Then the devil on her shoulder said, _What the hell? You've come this far._ She whipped a small pillow out from beneath Boothie and positioned it under Allison's neck so her head was tilted back. Then she climbed to her feet and straddled the woman, facing Gabriel. She placed her hands on her knees and in slow, burlesque style, she lowered herself. Her knees spread farther and farther apart until she was squatting right over Allison, one hand on the woman's slick chest to balance herself. Her open pussy met her colleague's lovely face.

Allison's tongue slid out to meet her but did not move. Carrie got the message and began to move her hips back and forth, face-riding her. It was an act she'd only indulged in once before – with a man. Why only once before? She was shocked at herself. The sensation was delicious, with Allison's whole face available to her for stimulation. She could feel her nosing into the depths of her pussy; her flat tongue sliding between her labia; her hard chin and soft lower lip rubbing against her clitoris. It brought out the fiend in Carrie, that suppressed part of her that wanted to make another human being service her. "Eat it," she heard herself say. "Eat my pussy. Take it!" She could feel her juices seeping out of her, giving Allison's face a second anointing.

The last time she'd done this, it had been just her lover and herself but this time, there were two watchers. Boothie was lying on his side next to them, his long, slender body making him look like some shining princeling. He wore a contented smile. His hand reached out and rubbed along the top of Carrie's thigh as she worked her hips.

Gabriel was still going, sweat dripping off him and spattering Allison's belly as he held her hips and fucked her. His mouth hung open, his cobra gaze fixed on Carrie's pussy.

She began to exaggerate her movements, thrusting her mound at him like a cheap stripper. She reached down and parted her lips once more so the little red button of her clitoris was made visible. Knowing all eyes could see the most sensitive, secret part of her made her put back her head and cry out her pleasure. The thrill of being sexual with others – of her sexuality being embraced and confirmed – washed over her.

Now, every wanton grind pushed her clit against Allison's tongue. Carrie needed to come at last, in full view of everyone, to spasm with joy and no limitations – to say what she wanted and do what she wanted.

Gabriel leant forward, and rested his hands and the weight of his upper body on Allison's breasts. Cruel fingers slowly clamped around her nipples again. Carrie could just see the pinched tips peeking up above his fingers. It was an iron grip. The conquered woman's squeal echoed inside Carrie's pussy, making her moan.

This big, scary guy was so close now. It seemed a waste to have that animal face so close and not to do something with it so Carrie moved in and offered her mouth to him. He immediately took her lower lip in his teeth and bit down, snarling as he did so. She shrieked and he stopped the sound with his thick tongue. Painting the inside of her mouth with his saliva as he slowly withdrew, he then flicked the tip of his tongue across the bruised flesh. Carrie had to smile at the image of her own, contrasting spit-roasting: her mouth abused by another while she dominated a further mouth with the demanding of her cunt.

A plaintive cry told them something was going on below. They looked down to see Allison had sneaked a hand between her legs and was rubbing her clit in earnest. It was hard to define exactly how she knew it but Carrie was sure the wild blond beneath her was about to come, and that knowledge sent her own body over the edge. She was dimly aware that Gabriel was giving Allison's tits a final violent tug and the woman was screaming, screaming inside Carrie as her body shuddered beneath them.

Carrie's own orgasm was extraordinary: a clitoris sunburst with a stretched-on-a-rack cunt spasm than juddered through everything – clit, cunt and asshole, spreading warmth even into her womb. She almost suffocated Allison as she overflowed.

With an earthy cry, Gabriel finished, too, eyes glued throughout on the swollen parts of the women's bodies: the clits, the tormented nipples, the bitten mouths. He continued to thrust as he came, slowing down only slowly.

As Carrie dismounted and collapsed face down on the bed, her last view was of Gabriel withdrawing his prick from Allison. It was still semi-hard, bouncing, strings of juices peeling away from it. A hand was giving it a final few strokes just below the head, pushing out a final trickle or two. Orgasm.

Carrie's eyes were closed, her head buried in her arms. There were things going on in the room, things she was hardly aware of. A clunking sound, the click of what she took to be a purse, weight lifting from the bed and Allison's voice, low and hoarse with spent desire, saying, "Are you happy with that? Is that the amount we agreed? Okay, you can go now."

Half an hour later, she scraped herself off the bed and went for a shower.

* * *

Back in the bedroom, Allison was already under the covers. She was looking right up at Carrie with a smart-ass smile, one arm flung up over her head while the other held back a corner of the sheets to make space for her friend. She looked pristine – so fresh, so blond. What a delicious lie!

Carrie slipped into bed beside her. Allison instantly hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close so their faces were side by side on the pillow. She combed her fingers through Carrie's hair and her own so the two blended together. Deep blue eyes flicked up and held hers in a compelling gaze, pupils fathomless. "Sex is bonding," she said. "Female bonobos fuck to cement relationships. I can never feel truly close to someone unless I've fucked them."

Carrie nodded. "I've seen you now. And you've seen me." She kissed her delicately on her delicate lips. She couldn't help but run her fingertips over Allison's nipples. They still looked red and a little sore.

"Fusion orgasm." She watched Carrie's fingers in their tender exploration.

"Hm?"

"My nipples are particularly sensitive. Gabriel knows it. My psychological state changes somehow when they're pinched. Like when you pull on a ring through a bull's nose, some hormone is released that makes them docile. That's kind of what happens to me. And Gabe worked out that if he stimulates my nipples in a certain way, the pleasure harmonises with the pleasure in my pussy and when I come, they throb together."

"You mean – you have an orgasm in your nipples?"

"Kinda!" Allison wriggled her shoulders and giggled.

"Wow." Carrie bent down and placed a kiss on each sweet peak.

"Maybe you should try it some time." She reached up a hand and gently rolled one soft nipple.

Carrie was surprised by how quickly blood rushed into the region and made it stand proud once again. "I'm not sure I could take it," she confessed. "It looked pretty rough."

"Sucking works, too. I'm sure you'd like that."

A smile curled on her lips and she wagged her head. "Well – yes, I would!"

They both laughed and for a while, all they did was sigh and look and trace their fingers across the arcs of each other's faces: the curve of Allison's cheek; the long lines of Carrie's throat. Then Allison murmured, "A shame we never got around to seeing them fuck each other."

Carrie raised herself on one elbow. She looked at her colleague solemnly as she asked, "Allison – did you pay them?"

The eyes that returned her gaze were frank and unrepentant. "Yes. And I think you knew that was the deal even before we started."

Carrie whistled low and hung her head.

"Moral outrage, Carrie? You're not fooling me. After _that_? After sitting on my _face_?"

She failed to suppress a smile but her uneasiness was not entirely quashed. "We're CIA officers! What if we get caught? It's essentially prostitution."

"It's definitely prostitution." She reached up and tugged on Carrie's hair. "I can assure you, I'm very discreet. I choose wisely. And it's far safer than picking up anonymous men in bars."

"How did you know about that?" Carrie's brow furrowed.

"I didn't. But I've been there. And I'm never going back." She pulled her friend down beside her. "Having said that, I like to think of myself as a bad girl sometimes. And you're my bad girlfriend."

Carrie flicked her eyebrows.

"Imagine if Saul knew what you'd been up to. Now that would be interesting."

"Saul?"

"Yeah." She developed a grin Carrie had not seen on her angelic face before, gritted teeth visible behind it, eyes like hot coals. "He'd tell you how disgusting you are. He'd punish you, put you over his knee and you'd feel the rough material of his pants rubbing across your bare skin. He'd lift your skirt –"

Never mind that Carrie never wore skirts.

"- and pull down your panties." Allison's eyes closed and she squirmed with each naughty development. "And your round little cheeks would be like a goad to him and he'd spank you. He'd spank and spank you, and it wouldn't hurt at first but then your cheeks would begin to burn. One hand would be on the back of your neck and the other raining hard blows from that huge, masculine hand. And he'd be saying, 'Dirty. Little. Slut. Dirty. Little. Slut,' over and over, and you suddenly realise you can feel a hard lump pressing into your stomach and it must be his cock. He's getting hard from punishing you and you know it won't be the end now because he's going to get his cock out, too, and hurt you with it."

"Jesus," hissed Carrie. "You're turning me on." Then she noticed she wasn't the only one who was turned on. Allison's hand had crept southwards once more and was moving underneath the satin sheets. The movements were tiny and rarefied, no more vigorous than if she were scratching an itch. But a woman watching a woman could not be fooled. Carrie divined the matching sensation for every flicker of a tendon.

"You start crying. You're going, 'No, Daddy, no – I'm a good girl,' but you know he can see what a bad girl you are because your pussy juice is dripping down the inside of your leg and you're wriggling against him, pressing your clitoris against his thigh, spreading your legs so his slaps glance across your pussy. And then, in the middle of your tears, you come, writhing on his lap, and everything goes silent and still, and you know he's furious with you now. He pushes you to the floor and stands over you, unbuckling his belt. You try to placate him, put your hands between your legs and spread yourself, showing him your little pink puss, there for him to do anything he wants with it, and he gets out that monster cock of his –"

"Oh, he'd have a monster cock, of course!"

"You mean you've never checked out the bulge in his pants? Carrie – he's huge! Oh, what I wouldn't give for him to fuck me with that giant cock of his!" Her hand vibrated under the sheets like a little electric motor. Her tongue began to writhe over her lips. "Do you like big cock, Carrie? Do you like being held down and stretched open by thick meat?"

"You know I do!"

"Then I've got a surprise for you." She rolled away from her and reached under the bed. When she rolled back, she had something with her under the covers. An indeterminate shape made bulges in the sheets. Allison put both her hands between her legs and did something new – something that made her mouth gape and all the air rush out of her lungs. It was the kind of gasp only penetration could generate. Pained eyes opened and turned back to Carrie, and though Allison lay prone and penetrated, she was still in command. "Sit up, girl," she gasped. "I know what you need."

As Carrie did as she was told, her colleague did the same. The sheets fell away and they knelt opposite each other on the bed, naked. Before she had time to look down, Allison had gone to work, pulling her close and pressing something between her legs. She put her hand down and felt it – a long jelly dildo, already slick with the other woman's juices. As it squeezed into her, she realised it had never left Allison's body. It was double-ended and now both of them were enjoying its gifts. A slender hand fed it in deep. All evening, Carrie had had nothing inside her and now delicious thickness was pressing her open from her lips to the neck of her womb – filling her, completing her. Her head went back, cheeks tense and cheekbones high, a smile splitting her face. She began to bounce on the wonderful violation.

Allison thrust down, too. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me," she chanted. Then her eyes met Carrie's as her arms folded her in. Both sets of hips pushed down until each woman swallowed her share of phallus and their hard little clitorises met, still so pink, so precious. "Tell me you love it," she cooed. "Tell me you love being fucked. Tell me. Tell me!"

"Yes," cried Carrie. "Oh, yes. Yes!"


End file.
